


Centers of Symmetry

by killabeez



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clan Denial, Episode: s02e19 Legacy, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Femslash, Multi, Polyamory, The Methuselah Stone, What-If, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez
Summary: In 1994, Luther went hunting for the Methuselah Stone. He might have failed, had the mortal John Bowers not interfered, changing the Game forever.
Relationships: Amanda Darieux & Lucy Becker, Amanda Darieux/Rebecca Horne, Ceirdwyn/Alex Raven/Richie Ryan, Joe Dawson & Methos (Highlander), Katherine | Kate Sutherland | Katrina Belinskaya/Nick Sutherland, Methos (Highlander) & Richie Ryan
Comments: 23
Kudos: 33
Collections: Highlander Secret Santa (ShortCuts) 2019





	Centers of Symmetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [havocthecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havocthecat/gifts).



> If you need to, please see the end notes for spoilers about the character death(s) in this story.

_Prologue  
May 1994—Paris, France_

Amanda glanced over her shoulder as she crossed the bridge into the 10th Arrondissement. It was a glorious summer evening, the sky lit up in pinks and golds and blues, but she couldn’t bear to look at it. She didn’t know when she’d able to take joy in something like a sunset again, but it wouldn’t be today. Maybe not for a long time. 

The modest townhouse stood on a quiet, tree-lined street. Amanda had barely reached the door when it swung open and Lucy was there, her expression drawn in lines of sadness and sympathy—and relief, too, though she tried to hide it. Then her eyes went to Amanda’s hair, and a half-smile brightened her face. “I like it,” she said after a moment. “Very Evangelista.”

“You think?”

“Definitely,” Lucy said, and opened her arms.

Amanda stepped into her old friend’s embrace without hesitation, and let emotion well up for a moment. “Thanks, Cookie,” she said, stepping back when she’d managed to get herself together. “You didn’t have to stay for this, you know.”

“Of course I did. Don’t be ridiculous.” Lucy stepped back, and Amanda followed her into the house. 

“Is Rebecca here yet?” Amanda asked.

“She’ll be here soon,” said Ceirdwyn, appearing from the living room. “Amanda,” she said warmly, and the two women kissed both cheeks in greeting, though it had been more than sixty years since they’d seen each other. “Welcome to my home.”

“It’s lovely,” Amanda said. “Thank you for doing this.” They regarded each other for a long moment, memory and shared affection bright in Ceirdwyn’s eyes. She nodded at last, took Amanda’s coat, and then gestured for her to join the others. 

Amanda greeted Duncan’s protégé, thinking how young he looked now, though he was trying so hard not to. She’d half expected him to blame her for what had happened, but read no animosity in his manner. “Richie. It’s good to see you.”

“Hi, Amanda.” He was still nervous around her, though he kissed her cheek and tried his best not to show it. “You, uh…how are you holding up?” She shrugged and smiled, and he gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Thank you for asking,” she said, squeezing his hand. She turned to the man beside him, but Fitzcairn’s craggy, heartbroken face nearly undid her. Even here, she read no blame. “Fitzcairn,” she greeted him, covering gamely and managing to hold it together. 

“Amanda,” Fitz said, gruff, but beneath the sadness, he looked glad to see her.

She leaned in. For his ears only, she said, “We had some fun times, didn’t we?”

His mouth quirked, and he drew both of her hands to him, kissing them gently. “That we did, my lady.”

When he let her go, Lucy handed her a glass of wine, and she took it gratefully. “Where’s the husband?” Amanda asked _sotto voce_ , glancing at their hostess. This was risky for all of them, never mind someone in Ceirdwyn’s position, with a mortal to worry about. Lucy, at least, knew the score and had some experience.

“Madrid,” Lucy replied. “On business, she said.”

Amanda nodded. Ceirdwyn had been around a long time, and she was nobody’s fool; Amanda imagined she had a few contingency plans. 

She sipped her wine and looked around the room. One or two, she didn’t know, though she could guess. Grace Chandel, maybe. And was that Constantine? She’d heard he was in Paris, but she hadn’t known Duncan knew him. Others were familiar faces—Sean Burns, whom she’d met but once, and the de Valicourts, whom she hadn’t seen since their last wedding. Lucy was the only mortal, and she stayed close to Amanda’s side. 

“Have you heard from the other one?” Fitzcairn asked Richie, and Amanda realized that’s who she was missing. Connor. 

Richie shook his head. “No. I thought he might show, but…”

He sounded uneasy, and Amanda couldn’t blame him. It was her second funeral this week, and she didn’t dare hope it would be the last. Was this how it was going to be now? Immortals going dark, one by one, until Luther had hunted them all to extinction? If he got the last piece of the crystal…

“I wish Rebecca would get here,” she said, half to Lucy, half to herself.

“She will,” Lucy said. “Don’t worry.”

Lucy had been with them at John’s funeral, too. Rebecca had always been fond of her, and as far as Lucy was concerned, Rebecca hung the moon. Lucy and John had bonded at Rebecca and John’s wedding, and the two had been friends ever since. Amanda hadn’t even tried to talk her out of flying to Paris, though it was the last place she should be right now. 

“There she is,” Lucy said, as the doorbell rang. With so many Immortals in close proximity, it was impossible to sense anyone approaching—one of the reasons Immortals seldom cohabitated for long—but Rebecca’s unmistakable red hair and white coat were visible through the glass-paned doors. Amanda’s apprehension eased. No matter how long she lived, she always felt safer when Rebecca was around, and they’d nearly lost her less than a week ago. If it hadn’t been for John, they would have.

If it hadn’t been for John—and for her—Duncan might still be alive.

Ceirdwyn took Rebecca’s coat, and the two entered the room. Rebecca looked pale, her face drawn but resolute. To anyone else, she might have seemed calm, even cold. But Amanda, who had seldom seen Rebecca truly angry before, knew better.

“Where were you?” Amanda asked quietly. “We were starting to worry.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lucy said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I went to see Valjean last night.” Rebecca nodded across the room at Sean, then glanced at Ceirdwyn to include her in the conversation. “He left France early this morning.”

“And the crystal?” Ceirdwyn asked. 

“Valjean's hidden it by now. But Luther won’t give up, not when he’s so close. It’s only a matter of time before he gets the last piece.”

“Can’t you destroy it?” Lucy asked. “Throw it in a volcano or something?”

Amanda had wondered the same thing, even though she hated the idea of destroying something so priceless. And, okay, she’d wondered what would happen if you _did_ have all the pieces—but that was before they’d lost MacLeod.

Rebecca said, “We could try. But I’m not certain it _can_ be destroyed. It’s older than Immortals, and the pieces have found their way back to one another more than once.”

“So, what are you saying?” Amanda asked. “That it’s hopeless?”

Ceirdwyn said, “There’s always hope.”

Amanda, who didn’t feel very hopeful right now, saw the flicker of something bleak and bitter in Rebecca’s face. _Easy for you to say,_ she thought. _Your husband’s still alive._

As it had more than once over the last few days, the wave of grief caught her off guard. Duncan wasn’t the first person she’d lost, but she didn’t know if she’d ever felt it quite like this. He’d always been there for her, no matter what, even when she didn’t deserve it. A part of her had started to believe that maybe he’d stick around—that maybe they could be something more one day. That maybe she even wanted that. Then he had to go and be a damned hero, and trade his life for hers, and now she’d never know what might have been.

Lucy knew better than to touch her, but she couldn’t have stood any closer if she tried. She knew all too well what it was like to lose someone too soon—it was how they’d become friends. “Is everyone here?” she asked Ceirdwyn. Amanda surreptitiously wiped away the tears before they could fall in earnest.

“Yes, I think that’s everyone. Shall we start?”

* * *

Immortals didn’t get wakes, as a rule. If they were lucky, if they’d died living some semi-normal life—maybe they were married to a mortal, or trying to make a difference in the world—someone cared about them enough to give them a decent burial. But it was rare for an Immortal to draw other Immortals together to celebrate who they really were. 

Ceirdwyn raised a glass, and the others all did the same. “We’re here today to celebrate the life of Duncan MacLeod,” she said, and smiled a little. “Of the Clan MacLeod.” A soft chuckle ran through the group. “Thank you all for coming.”

Ceirdwyn hadn’t seen Duncan in person since he’d left Paris in 1983. It was an unspoken understanding most Immortals shared. If a friend found that rare moment of happiness, made a life with someone, it was best to stay away. Even the strongest relationships might struggle when faced with the fleeting nature of mortal lives, and being confronted with their partner’s Immortal friends or lovers—even ex-lovers—could put a strain on things even they couldn’t survive. Duncan had met Tessa, and then she’d met Steven. It was what it was.

“I first met Duncan in Killecrankie, in 1689,” she began, “and I don’t think he’d bathed in at least a month…”

One by one, her guests told stories of Duncan’s life, and how he’d touched theirs. He’d been one of a kind, and he’d be missed. Though only a few hundred years old, his personality had been a force to be reckoned with, and Ceirdwyn didn’t think she’d ever known a man so passionate, or who felt so deeply. Looking around the room, she realized how few old Immortals there were left, and how many of them had found hope and inspiration through knowing him. Green boy he might have been, but he should never have died the way he had. Luther would pay for what he’d taken. She’d see to it—and she knew she wouldn’t be alone.

When everyone had spoken who wanted to, and tears flowed freely among them, Ceirdwyn turned to the young man she’d only met a few hours ago. He reminded her so much of Corwin, his sweet nature yet untarnished by the cruelties of life, his mischievous streak and wry humor counterbalanced by his kindness and generosity of spirit. He’d been robbed of his family too soon, and she knew what that felt like. 

With luck, in time, he might let her step in to the absence his teacher had left.

“Richie, these last few years, you knew him best of all of us. Do you want to say anything?”

Caught off-guard, his face reddened. “Uh‚ okay, I—sure.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you all knew him a lot longer than I did.”

Amanda nodded in encouragement. “Go ahead, Richie. It’s okay.”

He drew a deep breath. “Well—” He glanced at Fitzcairn, who nodded as well. “Mac—I mean, Duncan—” He laughed a little, nervously. “It’s weird to call him that. I always just called him Mac.”

Haltingly, he told the story of how he’d broken into Duncan’s store in Seacouver, and how Duncan and Tessa had taken him in, making him part of their family. How they’d taught Richie what it meant to _have_ a family. Ceirdwyn couldn’t help remembering the story Duncan had told her about his own father, his own clan, and how much he missed them. How much it had hurt when they’d cast him out. She hadn’t cried herself in a long, long time, but her throat grew tight and she thought she might, later, when she was alone.

“To Duncan MacLeod,” she said, when Richie fell quiet. “Of the Clan MacLeod.” She raised her glass.

“To Duncan,” they all echoed, and drank.

It was later, when the food had been eaten and they were beginning to say their good-byes, that the phone rang. Ceirdwyn answered. An unfamiliar voice spoke, and she frowned. 

She brought it to Richie, in the middle of laughing at a story Fitzcairn was telling, more than a little tipsy and leaning on Robert for support. “It’s for you,” she said, handing him the cordless.

Richie frowned, but took the phone and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

He listened. After a minute, he lowered the phone, and looked to Amanda in dismay.

“Who was it?” she asked.

“Dawson,” he said. When the rest of them looked mystified, he swallowed and said, “Valjean’s dead.”

* * *

_Two years later_

At eight o’clock on a rainy Tuesday evening, Joe Dawson waited as, in twos and threes, the others entered the nondescript basement flat. Pierson, who had arranged the venue, had staked out a corner facing the door, where now he sat nursing his second beer and talking to Ryan in low tones as he watched the room. The unlikely pair seemed to have struck up a friendship of sorts after Joe sent Richie to warn Pierson that Kalas was hunting him, and Richie learned Pierson was Immortal. 

Pierson had vanished after getting Kalas arrested, then showed up at Joe’s door a year later, when Luther killed Kalas. Joe hadn’t exactly been glad to see him, but it had been Pierson who had warned him that once Luther knew about the Watchers, all shit would hit the fan. Joe owed his life to Pierson—which, he figured, made them even.

A file lay on the table in front of Joe, a stack of printouts on top of it. He didn’t have to read the list to know what it said; he’d compiled the grim accounting himself. He had another list of names they weren’t sure about. That one was longer. 

_Brian Cullen—killed by Luther, August 7, 1994  
John Garrick—killed by Luther, October 23, 1994  
May-Ling Chen—killed by Michael Christian, February 8, 1995  
Brother Paul—killed by Luther, February 20, 1995  
Michael Christian—killed by Luther, February 26, 1995  
Damon Case—killed by Luther, March 2, 1995  
Donald Salzer*—killed by Kalas, March 5, 1995  
Simon Killian—killed by Luther, April 30, 1995  
Peter Kanis—killed by Luther, May 2, 1995  
Marcus Constantine—killed by Luther, August 22, 1995  
Walter Graham—killed by Luther, October 2, 1995  
Claudia Jardin—killed by Luther, October 2, 1995  
Gregor Powers—killed by Luther, October 14, 1995  
Andrew Cord—killed by Luther, November 5, 1995  
Kanwulf—killed by Kantos, November 17, 1995  
Roland Kantos—killed by Luther, November 22, 1995  
Haresh Clay—killed by Luther, January 4, 1996  
Carter Wellan—killed by Luther, January 4, 1996  
Melvin Koren—killed by Luther, March 26, 1996  
Gina de Valicourt—killed by Luther, April 6, 1996  
Robert de Valicourt—killed by Luther, April 6, 1996  
Hugh Fitzcairn—killed by Luther, April 12, 1996  
Antonius Kalas—killed by Luther, April 28, 1996  
David Shapiro*—killed by Jacob Galati, May 8, 1996  
Jacob Galati—killed by Luther, May 14, 1996  
Jack Shapiro*—killed by Luther, May 14, 1996  
James Horton*—killed by Luther, May 15, 1996_

The list of Watchers after that filled two pages, and that wasn’t counting those who’d died in Horton’s mad crusade. Those who were left had broken all communication and done their best to disappear—in effect, ending the Watchers, at least for the foreseeable future. But that wasn’t why he’d reached out to the others and asked them to meet tonight. It was the last name on the list that might herald the beginning of the end for the Immortals, and maybe even the human race:

_Horvan Kant—killed by Jim Coltec, May 18, 1996_

* * *

“Whoa. Who’s that?” Richie asked Adam, as one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen came through the door, shaking rain out of her hair. His heart skipped a few beats, and he couldn’t stop staring. Ceirdwyn went to her and greeted her like they were old friends. 

“That’s Alexis,” Adam said with a knowing drawl. “Alex Raven, she goes by these days. She was Ceirdwyn’s student.”

“ _Was_ was?” Richie asked. “Like, as in, how long ago?” He didn’t know how old Ceirdwyn was, exactly, but he knew she was older than Amanda, maybe even as old as Rebecca. 

Adam tsked. “Don’t you know by now that it’s impolite to ask?”

Speaking of Amanda and Rebecca, the two were here tonight, though without Amanda’s mortal companion this time. Amanda looked different, and it wasn’t just the close-cropped blonde hair. Her face was sharper, more severe, though no less beautiful than before. MacLeod’s death had hit her hard, and Richie suspected that the only thing that would bring her peace would be Luther’s death. Same went for Rebecca. Tonight, some unnamed tension crackled between the two women, and Richie made a mental note to step carefully around them. 

His gaze was drawn back to Alex, and this time, she noticed. One finely-drawn eyebrow arched, something—Richie was tempted to call it a spark—lighting her eyes. “Aw, crap,” he murmured. His stomach flipped.

“I think she likes you,” Adam murmured back.

“You think?” Richie asked, trying to play it cool and sure he was failing.

“Definitely,” Adam said, amused. “Maybe you remind her of someone.”

Two more people Richie didn’t know arrived—a man and a woman, both dark-haired, wearing what looked like motorcycle leathers. Alex greeted the woman warmly, embracing her, but Ceirdwyn looked less pleased. “What’s he doing here?” Richie heard her say.

The new arrival lifted her chin, plainly not accustomed to having to explain herself. “We made a deal,” she said. “Where I go, he goes.”

“Kate and Nick Sutherland,” Adam said quietly. “She’s also known as Katherine.”

Being friends with an ex-Watcher had its advantages. “I thought she and Ceirdwyn were friends?” If he remembered right, Ceirdwyn was the one who’d suggested they contact her.

“They are,” Adam said. “But, lotta history, there.”

The new guy was a mortal, Richie realized. Ceirdwyn’s husband had died more than a year ago, but she still carried a lot of anger about it; no wonder she wasn’t thrilled. “It’s complicated,” he said. “I get it.”

“Bright boy.”

Dawson cleared his throat, and rose to stand with the help of his cane. “Thank you all for coming. I know it's risky, and I appreciate you being here.”

“Maybe introductions are in order?” Alex said, and her eyes landed on Richie and Adam. Her voice was unexpectedly low, and made Richie think of velvet, or expensive whisky. Fuck. He was in serious trouble.

Dawson nodded. “Yeah, of course. I think most of you know each other, and you already know who I am.” He looked to Richie and Adam, too, and Richie’s face warmed.

“Richie Ryan,” he said, standing awkwardly. “I’m—I was Duncan MacLeod’s student.”

“Adam Pierson,” Adam said, not bothering to get up. “Former Watcher. Currently unemployed.”

A slight pause followed, then the dark-haired woman in the leathers said, “Kate Sutherland. My husband, Nick. We’re—I guess you could say, guns for hire.”

“I prefer problem solvers,” Nick said.

“Problem solvers,” Kate corrected.

“Alex Raven,” Alex said. She smiled. “Various skills, I suppose, but mostly intelligence work.”

When no one else spoke, Dawson handed a small stack of paper to Ceirdwyn, who took one and passed them around. Dawson said, “I know most of this isn’t news to any of you, but for those of you with friends on this list, my sincere condolences.”

Rebecca glanced over her copy. “Luther’s been busy.”

“Understatement,” Dawson agreed. “The last few months, especially, he’s taken some heavy hitters. And that’s not counting those still unaccounted for.” He looked uncomfortable when he said, “We’re piecing together what we can.”

“You mean, how many Luther’s killed, and how many died to Horton’s death squad,” Amanda said.

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees, and Richie felt a bit sorry for Dawson. They’d all believed Horton was dead years ago, but he didn’t envy Dawson’s position in this company. It must have taken some serious cojones just to be here.

“Do you know where Luther is?” Rebecca asked, keeping them focused on what mattered.

“Not a clue,” said Dawson.

Amanda said, “I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the days when the Watchers knew everything.” 

“There’s still a few of us left, using the old channels and codes,” said Dawson. “We’ll find him. But in the meantime—”

“—when we do find him, how do we stop him?” Amanda finished. 

“It’s worse than that,” Ceirdwyn said, and they all turned to look at her. “Coltec's killed six people in the past ten days. He's going to keep killing. And sooner or later, Luther's going to get wind of it and go after him. How do we stop that from happening?”

“So, we’ve got two problems,” Kate said. “How do we deal with Coltec, and how do we deal with Luther?”

Amanda said, “Well, we can't kill Coltec. Whoever takes his head is screwed.” Richie wasn’t sure he understood exactly how this Dark Quickening theory worked, but Adam and Ceirdwyn had assured them it was possible.

“That’s easy,” Kate said. “Lure him into a deserted warehouse, set a bomb, and, boom—problem solved.”

When no one immediately replied, Adam said, “It does have a certain elegance of simplicity.”

“It's too risky,” said Ceirdwyn. “Too much could go wrong.” Kate rolled her eyes, but Ceirdwyn went on, "What if Luther gets wind of it? What if it doesn’t get the job done?"

“I could do it,” Dawson offered. They all turned to look at him. “He doesn't know me. He can't sense me coming. I lure him into a dark alley, shoot him, take his head, and the quickening goes nowhere.” Richie—who'd known him longer than anyone save Adam, and remembered how insistent he'd been that Watchers never interfered—could tell he wasn't as cavalier about the idea as he sounded.

No one offered an objection. “Well?” Adam said at last. “Anyone got a better idea?”

“This guy was Mac's friend,” Richie put in. “That's what you said. Are we sure there's nothing we can do to help him?”

An awkward silence fell. Ceirdwyn and Adam exchanged a long look. 

"What?" Richie asked. 

“There is a story,” Adam said, “in the chronicles. More than fifteen hundred years ago, a devout paladin killed one too many evil Immortals, and turned evil himself. He fled to a remote monastery, and the monks called upon the power of a holy spring to cleanse the evil from the man's soul.”

“Did it work?” asked Nick.

Adam shrugged. “If you believe the story, yes.”

“Well?” Nick prompted. “Do you know where it is? I mean, does anyone?”

“Maybe,” Adam said. “But we'd still have to get him there. Any suggestions on how we do that?”

Ceirdwyn said, “We can't afford to risk Luther getting to him first. I say we go with Dawson's plan—with a few refinements.”

“Seconded,” said Kate. “Nick and I can come with.”

“And me,” Alex said.

“Fine, and Alex.”

They all looked around. "Okay, then," said Dawson.

“Now back to the bigger problem,” Amanda said. “Either we stop Luther, or he picks us off one by one. I'm tired of skulking around with a target on my back. Whatever it takes, he has to die.” 

Rebecca’s expression echoed hers. “Agreed.”

“What do we know about this crystal?” Kate asked.

Rebecca told them what she knew, with Adam sharing a few details from the Watcher archives. “In order for the crystal’s power to work,” Rebecca concluded, “Luther must keep it with him at all times.”

“So, stealing it’s out,” Richie said, and Alex gave him an approving glance.

But Amanda said, “Maybe not.” Everyone looked her direction. “I mean, he has to sleep sometime, right?”

Rebecca shot her a look of disbelief. “You’re not serious. He has guards, Amanda. No one’s that good a thief—not even you.”

Amanda shrugged. “How do we know for sure, though? Maybe they’re not always with him. Maybe we can take them out. All I’m saying is, we should at least consider the possibility.”

“So, what we need is intel,” Alex said.

Dawson looked dubious. “He already knows about the Watchers. We can probably find his location, but how do we get close enough for that level of surveillance? And how do we coordinate a plan if he’s constantly on the move?”

“What about Cassandra?” Ceirdwyn asked at last.

Amanda frowned. “What about her?”

“Like the man said, we need any advantage we can get.”

“Who’s Cassandra?” Richie whispered to Adam, but Adam ignored him. His face had gone tight at the mention of the name. 

“You really believe she can see the future?” Kate asked.

“She's lived this long,” Alex said, “and she's not much of a fighter. Says something about her.” At Kate’s look, she shrugged. “It's worth a shot.”

Dawson glanced toward Adam, as if expecting him to chime in, but Adam remained tight-lipped. When no one else spoke, Richie raised a hand. “Uh, someone want to fill me in? Who’s Cassandra?”

* * *

Kate and Nick were the first to leave; then Amanda and Rebecca said their good-byes as well. “That’s interesting,” Alex commented privately to Ceirdwyn, watching them go. 

“What is?” Ceirdwyn’s attention was across the room, so she’d missed the casual intimacy between the two women as Rebecca helped Amanda with her coat.

“Tell you later,” Alex said. She followed the direction of Ceirdwyn’s gaze. “What’s up with Pierson? You know him?”

“We’ve met,” Ceirdwyn said. “I’d like to talk to him, but not while the Watcher’s around.”

“I thought he _was_ a Watcher.” Alex had only learned of their existence a few weeks ago, and she was still grappling with the idea that some secret society of mortals had been keeping track of them for millennia. 

Ceirdwyn only snorted in response.

Alex’s gaze shifted to the kid. “What do you think of the other one?” she asked. 

Ceirdwyn glanced at her in surprise. “Ryan? He’s sweet. Smart, far as I can tell. Duncan wouldn’t have taken him as a student if he didn’t have promise. Connor liked him, too.” Seeing Alex’s expression, the corner of her mouth turned up. “Don’t tell me you’re interested.”

Alex shrugged. Richie glanced up, sensing her watching him, and a pink flush crept over his cheeks. Alex kind of wanted to lick it off him. She had a type; sue her. “I wouldn’t say no.”

Ceirdwyn laughed, warm and genuine, and Alex’s heart lightened in response. There hadn’t been much laughter in her since Steven died, and it was nice to hear. Alex smiled at her friend, thinking that someone like Richie might be just what they needed. “I mean, a girl could do worse, am I right?”

Ceirdwyn shook her head, but the amusement lingered. “I take the fifth.”

“That’s not a no,” Alex teased. “Just saying.”

Ceirdwyn’s wry expression said she—as she always had—thought Alex was maybe a little bit crazy, but she still didn’t say no.

* * *

Joe watched Richie leave with Ceirdwyn and Alex, and sent up a silent prayer that the kid would survive the night. “I hope he knows what he’s doing,” he said to Pierson, who still sat nursing the last of his beer and hadn’t yet moved to depart. 

Pierson said wryly, “If they kill him, at least he’ll die happy.”

Retrieving a bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, Joe sat down beside him. 

"You didn't have much to say tonight," he said as he poured them each a finger’s worth.

Pierson accepted the glass, and sniffed it appreciatively. “You know me. I like to keep a low profile.” 

Something triggered Joe’s Watcher instincts. That was why he hadn’t left yet; this was good-bye. “You're planning to disappear again,” he guessed.

Pierson gave a small, enigmatic smile, but didn’t meet his gaze. “Assuming that were true, could you blame me?” He sipped at the whisky. “If you were smart, you'd do the same.”

“Not my style.” Joe gave Pierson a keen look. “What do you make of this plan? Cassandra, the witch of Donan Woods. You know much about her? The chronicles are full of half-wild legends and stories about her, but she's elusive. The record's got gaps of centuries or more, going back to the Bronze Age.”

A dark look flickered over Pierson’s face, and his voice betrayed uncharacteristic irritation. “What are you asking me, Joseph? Whether the woman's got magical powers?” Pierson downed the rest of his drink in one long swallow, then poured himself another. More mildly, he said, “Anything's possible. You know as well as I do—after the first couple of millennia, sometimes our kind can get a little larger than life. Coltec being a case in point.”

Ever since Joe had learned Pierson was Immortal, curiosity had eaten at him. No amount of digging on his part had turned up anything on Pierson’s origins, or how old he might be, and Pierson had managed to deflect even his most carefully veiled attempts at unearthing clues. “You wouldn't know anything about that, though,” he said, unable to resist.

“And, that’s my cue,” Pierson concluded. He downed the contents of his glass and got up, shrugging on his coat. “Good night, Joseph.”

Joe watched him head toward the door, wondering when he might see Pierson again. He suspected it wouldn’t be until all this was over, if then. “Not even a hint for your old pal Joe Dawson, huh?” he called after.

Pierson turned back and gave him a fond smile. "Who, me? Maybe one day. If we both live that long." As he left, he added over his shoulder, “Catch you on the flip side. And do me a favor? Watch your ass.”

Joe scowled. “Not my ass I’m worried about.”

* * *

_Later that night_

Amanda made a “time out” motion and crab-walked backwards up the bed, barely able to manage the coordination necessary. She flopped down and spread her arms and legs to cool off. 

“Quitting on me already?” Rebecca asked, crawling after her and straddling her on hands and knees. 

Amanda groaned. Rebecca was flushed and sweaty, her hair a wild tumble of flame around her shoulders—her lips wet from Amanda’s pussy—and Amanda’s body made a game attempt to rally despite herself. “You’re diabolical,” she protested. “I’m Immortal, not Wonder Woman.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Rebecca said, and bit Amanda’s left nipple—already swollen from similar treatment over the past two hours. Amanda yelped in protest. Before she could whip a hand up to protect herself, Rebecca licked the abused flesh in apology.

Amanda pushed her away, on the verge of begging for mercy. “What’s my safe word again? I think you fucked it out of me.”

Rebecca’s thumb descended on her clitoris, pressing gently, and she followed it with her tongue. “Mm, I’m not sure I remember. Remind me?”

“Tahiti! Tahiti—oh, god.” Amanda sucked in a breath, and Rebecca, who may as well have invented her, wrung one last orgasm out of her with certain intent.

“Okay, already! Mercy! Uncle! Whatever,” Amanda begged when it was over. “Are you actually trying to kill me?”

“Definitely not,” Rebecca said, fingering her gently but finally sparing her. She shifted her weight to the side and lay down beside Amanda with a sigh. “I like you in one piece.”

“Could have fooled me,” Amanda retorted. Not that angry sex wasn’t great and all, but a girl needed to sleep sometime.

A couple of minutes passed as they cooled off. It was late; Lucy had gone to bed hours ago, and Amanda could only hope they hadn’t woken her. The three of them had had some fun times in the past, but that had been a long time ago, and Lucy, much as she tried, generally preferred men. Life would be so much simpler without such complications, Amanda thought.

“Talk to me,” she said at last.

“About?” Rebecca asked.

“This whole plan. The dream team.” She shifted so she could see Rebecca’s face. 

Rebecca didn’t answer right away. “It’s been two years,” she said at last. “Luther’s only grown stronger. And we’re no closer to finding a way to defeat him. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think we have a choice.”

“What about Cassandra? You really think she can help?” Amanda stifled a yawn.

“We’ll see. I’ve heard stories. I imagine at least some of them are true.”

Amanda closed her eyes as sleep began to steal over her. Rebecca wasn’t big on cuddling these days, so she just pulled the covers up and nestled deeper into the pillows. “Well, I’ve got your back. You know that.”

“I do,” Rebecca said, and for the first time in a long time, brushed a hand over Amanda’s hair as she drifted off.

* * *

The plan to take out Coltec went about as smoothly as they could have hoped. Joe tracked him to a bar in Greenwich Village, and using her Presence to lure him into a deserted warehouse, Kate shot him in the chest. Alex put a knife through his heart to be safe, and then the four of them—Kate, Nick, Alex, and Joe—loaded his body into a van and drove to a remote location west of the city. Nick covered Joe while he did the deed, and the two Immortals watched from a safe distance. Coltec’s quickening rose from the wet ground in a roiling, black fog, and then sank back into the earth a few moments later.

It was a grisly business, and none of them had much to say on the long drive back. Joe, who had violated his oath in the most egregious way possible, thought about what MacLeod would say. What Ian would say, if he were still alive. He hadn’t felt this awful about anything since Vietnam.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Kate said at last. “We did what we had to.”

“Sure,” Joe said. It was true, but that didn’t make it any easier.

* * *

Meanwhile, Ceirdwyn set out to find Cassandra. No one had seen her in almost four hundred years—not even the Watchers—and though Richie wanted to go with her, she thought it would be better if she went alone. She and the witch had been cordial in the past, having encountered one another several times over the centuries, neither of them finding a reason to fight. If Cassandra would talk to any of them, Ceirdwyn probably stood the best chance.

“I’d start in Glenfinnan,” Pierson had said, for her ears only. Why he knew that when Dawson didn’t, Ceirdwyn didn’t know, and didn’t ask. It seemed fitting, though, that what had started with MacLeod would bring her back to the Highlands, to the very village where he was born.

Arriving on the train and arranging for a room at the local inn (run by a MacLeod, no less), Ceirdwyn headed first to the village church to talk to the local Father. He was happy to regale her with local legends for as long as she liked, though he’d not heard of any called the Witch of Donan Woods. Nor did he know of any young women fitting Cassandra’s description in the tiny hamlet of barely a hundred people.

She hadn’t expected it would be that easy, but figured it couldn’t hurt to try. Time was of the essence, though, so that night, she left the inn under the light of a waning moon, and walked down to the loch. 

Ceirdwyn was no witch, but she was counting on Cassandra’s abilities to make this work—and if it did, then maybe they had a chance against Luther.

The moonlight on the water was just a focal point. Standing on the shore, Ceirdwyn closed her eyes, and reached out.

* * *

For four hundred years, Cassandra had waited for the prophecy to come true. She hadn’t always lived in Scotland, but her home was here, as much as it had ever been anywhere.

 _Only a Highland child, born on the Winter Solstice._ He had lived long enough to see both darkness and light, but then his story had been cut short, and Roland had died anyway. She had been so sure. Now a woman she hadn’t seen in centuries had come looking for her, asking for her help.

“It wasn't supposed to be this way,” Cassandra said as, in her tiny room at the inn, Ceirdwyn poured them each a glass of wine and gestured for her to take a seat. “He wasn't supposed to die, not to the likes of Luther.”

“You'll get no argument from me,” Ceirdwyn said. Given a shortage of options, she sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed.

Cassandra said, “I don’t know that I can help you. It seems my skills…aren’t what they once were.”

But Ceirdwyn smiled. “You’re here, aren’t you? And thanks for that, by the way. I felt pretty silly out there, making a psychic phone call. Not really my speed.”

“Some skills can be taught.” At Ceirdwyn’s skeptical look, she added, “You might surprise yourself.”

“I’m more the, cut the bad guy’s head off, ask questions later kind of person. Speaking of which, do you know where he is right now?”

Cassandra shook her head. “I see only glimpses. A good private detective might be more effective. But if he were close by, or hunting for me, I would know.”

“He’ll be hunting all of us soon enough. Did you know he took Kalas?”

Cassandra nodded. Worse, he’d killed Kronos—but only she would know the significance of that. “An evil one will come to vanquish all before him,” she murmured, words she’d repeated to herself dozens of times over the centuries.

“What’s that?”

“A prophecy. One I thought I understood.” She frowned, studying the way the lamp cast jewel-blood shadows through the wine in her glass. “But only one of us was born in the Highlands on the winter solstice.”

Ceirdwyn swirled her own wine thoughtfully. “If it wasn’t for Duncan,” she said, “Dawson wouldn’t have known Amanda, or Richie Ryan. We wouldn’t have banded together to try and stop Luther. I wouldn’t be here right now, talking to you.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying, perhaps the prophecy was right after all.”

“It’s possible.” 

Cassandra considered that. At last, she said, “What do you need me to do?”

* * *

She left Ceirdwyn at the inn, telling her she would be in touch as soon as she knew something, and returned home—a comfortable house on Loch Eil, near the larger town of Fort William.

When Duncan died, Cassandra had lost faith in her Sight. For two years, she had abandoned her practice, and made no effort to seek a connection with her Goddess. What glimpses she’d had, she’d done her best to ignore. 

She donned a comfortable robe, and entered her meditation garden with a purpose for the first time in months. Approaching the altar, she took a crystal from her pocket; it seemed appropriate. She sat down with her legs folded, and placed the crystal before her. Though it had been a while, she soon reached the deepest level of meditation.

Cassandra listened, and waited. Time flowed around her, but her inner mind was still.

When she felt a presence, she asked a question; the image, when it came, was a perfect snowflake that settled to rest in the palm of her hand.

* * *

_Kinloch Rannoch, Scotland  
Three days later_

They were nine, in all—seven Immortals plus Dawson and Nick Sutherland. Pierson was notably absent, Richie realized, though none of the others seemed surprised or concerned. Two weeks since they’d met at the old Watcher safehouse in Paris. They’d taken over a vacation rental this time, and were gathered around the fire as Cassandra addressed them all.

“Crystals can have one of seven crystalline structures,” she explained, looking around the room. “Many form a four-sided, cubic lattice—like salt, for example. A snowflake always has six sides, because that’s how water forms crystals.” 

Dawson had taped a drawing of the Methuselah Stone from the Watcher archives to the mantel. Cassandra went on, “The Methuselah Stone also has a hexagonal structure—which you can see, if you look at each individual piece. When I saw the image of the snowflake, I also saw six of us, standing in a circle. Rebecca, Amanda, Ceirdwyn, Katherine, Alexis... and myself.” Cassandra looked at each of them as she spoke, and her words seemed to be laden with meaning. “Six is a powerful number. Three, mirrored. And symmetry has a focusing power of its own.”

Richie tried not to feel left out, though it made sense. Amanda was the youngest of the women, and even she was twelve hundred years old.

“Sight was not the only gift granted to me,” Cassandra said then. “Some of you have heard of Immortals who can imbue their voice with the power of persuasion. I have this ability, and I was able to teach it to one of my students.” She seemed less sure of herself now, and Richie couldn’t blame her. He got the feeling she didn’t have many friends, or spend a lot of time around other people. But she went on, “The secret is a way of manipulating the envelope of our Quickening, extending it beyond the limits of the physical body. If you can learn how to do that, it becomes possible to use that energy to affect others, or the world around you. And crystals amplify energy.”

“Where’s this all going?” Kate asked. At Ceirdwyn’s look, she grumbled, “Sorry, sounds like a lot of hocus pocus and fairy dust to me.”

Richie was glad someone had said it. But Cassandra wasn’t fazed, as if she was all-too accustomed to being dismissed or mistrusted.

It was Ceirdwyn who spoke up. “She thinks we can do the same thing between the six of us. Attune our quickenings, and join them together. Amplify them to disrupt the field generated by the Stone.”

A pause followed, while all of them digested that. Cassandra explained, “Essentially, we _become_ a crystal. One even more powerful than the Stone.”

“Then Luther becomes vulnerable,” said Rebecca. 

“I mean, it sounds good,” Amanda said at last. “If we can make it happen.”

“We can practice,” Cassandra said. “I can teach you.”

Richie raised his hand tentatively. When the others looked in his direction, he said, “Once you get the hang of it, how do we get Luther’s attention without tipping him off? I’m just asking.”

Cassandra said, “Roland was my student. He knew me. He knew where I’d be likely to go, if I were trying to hide from someone.”

“And Luther killed Roland,” Amanda said. “You’re saying…lure him out, with you as bait.”

“I think I can get his attention,” Cassandra said wryly.

“Only, we’ll be ready for him,” Kate said.

“If this doesn’t work,” Ceirdwyn pointed out, “he could kill all of us.”

“Hail Mary,” said Alex, the first time she’d spoken. “I like it.”

“That makes one of us,” Richie muttered. But he looked at Ceirdwyn, then Amanda and Rebecca, and saw that they were all on board—even Kate. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get a vote.

“One thing,” Cassandra said with an apologetic look at Richie. “It has to be just the six of us. We can’t risk any disruption of the link.”

“So, not only is it a hail Mary, I can’t even come along as backup?” He was liking this less and less by the second.

Ceirdwyn linked her arm in his. Alex kissed him gently on the cheek. “Sorry, kid.”

Richie was not at all fond of being called ‘kid,’ not even by Alex, but the kiss, he’d take.

“What about me and Nick?” Dawson asked.

“Yeah,” said Nick. “I was wondering the same thing. Would a couple of mortals mess you up?”

“Luther has mortal goons who follow him around,” Rebecca pointed out. “Might be nice to bring along some insurance.”

“Aw, that’s just great,” Richie said with a scowl. “What’m I supposed to do, go to a movie?”

“Look on the bright side,” said Amanda, only half-joking. “If Luther kills us all, you’ll still be around to give us a spectacular funeral.”

* * *

_That’s right, you son of a bitch,_ Amanda thought, as Cassandra gave the signal, and they all felt the jarring reverberation of Luther’s approach. He’d taken the bait. As one, they waited out of sight as Cassandra backed into the circle of standing stones, drawing Luther with her. He followed, sword drawn.

Amanda could tell the moment that he sensed there were more of them. She and the other women each stepped out from behind a stone, encircling him. 

“Six against one?” he said, and laughed. “I'm flattered. But do you honestly believe that will make a difference?”

“Oh, we’re not all going to fight you, Luther,” Rebecca said. She stepped forward, so he could see her sword sheathed across her back. “But I will.”

He was still smiling, but Amanda could tell he’d started to wonder what was going on. “Alone? I spared you once, Rebecca. You are mistaken if you think I’ll do it again.”

"You didn't spare me. You betrayed me. You tried to take my head without a fight, and you killed my husband. You _will_ face me."

He looked around at them all. “And what then? Each of you challenges me in turn, only to die? What do you hope to accomplish?”

“Enough talk,” Amanda said. “Let’s do this.” And Cassandra, who had been murmuring under her breath the whole time, raised her arms. The others mirrored her, and they all began chanting the ritual as they’d practiced.

“What the hell is this?” Luther said—and then alarm dawned as the crystal began to vibrate under his shirt. A high-pitched sound emanated from it, like the sound a crystal goblet made when you ran a finger around the rim. Then he grunted and started to claw at his shirt. He frantically ripped it off and fumbled one-handed with the buckles of the harness he’d rigged up to hold the crystal, obviously in agony. 

He finally managed to get it off. When he flung it to the ground, it shattered. Amanda could see that the intact crystal, where he’d wore it against his chest, had left a six-inch circular burn mark. “What did you do?” he cried angrily.

“Evened the odds,” Rebecca said, and drew her sword.

At the end of it, Luther demanded, “How? I don’t understand.” He struggled to rise to one knee, bleeding from a dozen cuts. Amanda would have loved to swing the sword herself, for Duncan’s sake, but Rebecca needed this more.

“You don’t need to understand, Luther,” Rebecca said. “It’s over. You just need to die.” She brought her sword down in a clean arc of finality.

Amanda’s eyes widened as Luther’s essence rose like a fierce cyclone whirling within the circle of stones, realizing what was going to happen only as the first current of power licked along the ground toward Rebecca. They had broken the power of the crystal together, and they would take the quickening together, too. She breathed in, bracing for it. 

Rebecca threw her head back, her hair whipping in the wind. With both hands, she raised her sword above her head and closed her eyes. Her lips moved, and though Amanda couldn’t hear her above the howl of Luther’s dying rage, she could guess what she’d said.

“For Duncan,” Amanda murmured, and spread her arms as the lightning came.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Dusk had fallen. A chill rain began to patter against the windows, and the smell of food cooking filled the cozy house Ceirdwyn had arranged for them. Dawson was resting; he'd taken a bullet graze to the arm from one of Luther's bodyguards—not serious, but deep and painful. Katherine had patched him up, made sure he replaced fluids, and then disappeared upstairs with her husband to work off some of the residual quickening energy.

Rebecca unwrapped the cloth she held, revealing the pieces of the crystal. They’d made no effort to fuse together after Luther’s death; they were dark, inert, and she felt no power in them. Yet, something about them still compelled her. 

“May I?” Cassandra asked.

Rebecca held the cloth so that Cassandra could lay her palms atop the pieces. After a moment, Cassandra scooped the crystals into her hands and held them, then splayed her fingers open to look at them.

“Their magic has faded,” she said at last. “But perhaps not permanently. They may yet recover.”

She returned the pieces to Rebecca, who wrapped them up again, weighing them carefully.

“Is everything all right?” Amanda asked. “You look—” She trailed off.

Rebecca found a smile for her. “I’m fine. Thanks to all of you.” Her gaze came to rest warmly on Cassandra, and the other woman inclined her head, accepting her gratitude. For years, Rebecca had managed to avoid crossing swords with many of their kind. Taking Luther’s overpowered quickening alone would have been dangerous—certainly difficult, at the very least. But she felt…light. As if a great weight had been lifted, and some crucial balance restored. Since John’s death, fury and necessity had driven her. Now, maybe she could grieve him as he deserved, and begin to say good-bye.

She looked across the room, where Ceirdwyn sat on a couch by the fire, Alex’s head in her lap. Perhaps it was time to put this weight down, as well.

As Rebecca approached, Alex sat up, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire and the low, simmering energy of the quickening. Ceirdwyn, sensing Rebecca’s serious intent, arched a brow in question.

Rebecca said, “It will be a long time before I take another student, if I ever do." Without ceremony, she offered the small bundle of crystals. "I would ask you to see that these go to those you trust.”

Ceirdwyn, after a long moment, accepted the stones. “I’ll do my best.”

“Who’s hungry?” Richie asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway with armfuls of steaming serving dishes and setting them on the trestle table. “Because I maaaaay have gone a little overboard.”

Alex jumped to her feet. “I knew I liked you.” At their collective looks, she laughed. “What? I’m starving!” 

**_Excerpt from the journal of Joe Dawson, North American Coordinator  
August 2, 1996_ **

_…though I witnessed the confrontation at Kinloch Rannoch, I can’t explain exactly what means Cassandra and the others used to overpower Luther and defeat the power of the Methuselah Stone. I can only say that had they failed, the world would be a much darker place._

_As for the crystal, it seems to have disintegrated in the quickening. We may never know where it came from, or how it worked. I suspect the mystery may fascinate generations of Watchers to come._

\- end -

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Melina for encouragement and enthusiasm! **Spoiler:** Some characters die in this AU who lived in canon, and the reverse as well. Those who die include Duncan MacLeod, the de Valicourts, Fitzcairn, and a few other secondary characters (off screen). Other than Luther, none of the characters listed die.


End file.
